


got a lucky one

by animmortalist



Category: The 100 (TV), The 100 Series - Kass Morgan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bartender Bellamy Blake, Bartender Clarke Griffin, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Fluff, Friends With Benefits, Some light smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:54:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26483005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/animmortalist/pseuds/animmortalist
Summary: Clarke Griffin moves to Dublin, gets robbed, is taken in by Octavia Blake, and has an awful first encounter with her brother, Bellamy, who she eventually starts sleeping with. It's a mess, but here's the thing, she might not be Irish, but her dad was, and she thinks some of his luck might've worn off on her.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 19
Kudos: 189





	got a lucky one

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bellsclarkes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellsclarkes/gifts).



> Hello, my lovelies. This is the first thing I've put out since last week's episode. I made a post on my tumblr about it, but I want to talk about it to the people who read my stuff here, too. Bellamy Blake and Bellarke are ours. They can live and prosper and fall in love in a million different ways. We need readers. We need writers and gifmakers and other content creators. Do whatever you need to do, whether that's taking a break or anything else. Take care of yourself and whatever you're feeling is valid. For myself, I will not let someone take away my love for Bellarke, and I will continue to write them and hope people will continue to read. I am so excited to share and read the wonderful things that are yet to come. 
> 
> Now, this fic for the amazing @bellsclarkes. you absolute amazing person and all around legend, I hope you had the happiest of birthdays and hope this belated birthday gift brings you some kind of joy. thank you thank you thank you for being so incredibly kind-hearted. 
> 
> Just a small note, I have been to Dublin a couple of times and lived in the UK for a year, but I am definitely not an expert about it, so please forgive any mistakes or butchering of it. 
> 
> Note: Please don't leave comments saying things like 'this story is now sad to read because of what happened' on my fics. It really is so discouraging and makes me feel quite upset. I know everyone's hurting, but it's not fair to me or others to put that kind of thing somewhere people come to escape and find some joy. 
> 
> *Title is from 'Fairytale of New York' by The Pogues*
> 
> Sending all the love and good thoughts to you all, and know you can always reach out to me on tumblr if you need someone to talk to you 💞💞💞

Clarke Griffin starts her new life in Dublin by getting robbed by a guy with a fanny pack. Only her mom’s emergency credit card and an oversized suitcase to her name, she thinks she’s going to pack it in right there and quit, go back home to Arkadia, Virginia and apply to med school like her mom wants. 

With no money and a phone with less than thirty percent charge, she lugs her single, heavy suitcase into a pub. If she’s going to call her mom and tell her about her failure, she’s at least going to get a drink, or seven, before she does it. 

The old, broken-down sign out front reads  _ The Dropship  _ and it’s a bit of a hole-in-the-wall, but somehow, also comforting. There are large wooden booths and a wrap-around bar with mismatching stools. It’s simple, not much decoration or color. No posters or art on the walls. Not at all her kind of place, but she can’t make herself walk much further, her shame hanging around her.

She takes a seat at the bar, adjusting on the heavily worn leather of a spinning chair. Browsing the menu, she isn’t surprised to see a lack of the beers she drank in college, cheap and American and, really, god awful. The lack of familiarity is exciting, if only for a moment. One of the reasons she wanted to make the move to the city her dad was born and grew up in is  _ this _ . The unfamiliar yet simultaneous sense of belonging from her dad’s stories of growing up and university, before he did a summer traveling around the States and met her mom. 

She never understood why her parents chose Arkadia when they had Dublin as an option, and she can’t help but be heartbroken that it seems fate is intent on making sure she doesn’t, either. 

“What can I get ya?” a brunette bartender asks as she comes over. She’s pretty, striking, even. 

“Whatever’s cheap and will get me drunk,” Clarke replies without much thought.

The bartender grins. “Coming right up.”

As she’s still wallowing in her thoughts, the bartender comes back over with a wry smile and not a beer like she expected, but a glass of whiskey.

“Thanks,” she says, taking a sip. 

She wonders if her mom will be checking the credit card enough to see Clarke’s first purchase in Dublin is at a pub. To her surprise, the bartender doesn’t leave right away. Instead, she leans across the bar, as if she’s analyzing Clarke. 

“So, romantic woes or work?” she asks.

There’s a slight accent in her voice but not much of one, not the sometimes undecipherable ones Clarke’s heard in her few hours being in the city. 

She blinks at her and takes a moment to reply, not sure how she feels about telling a total stranger her sad little story, “Neither.”

The bartender snorts. “Ah, so traveling stuff, huh?”

“Kind of,” she says.

“Okay, how about you cut the shit. I’m Octavia,” she sticks out a hand, and tentatively, Clarke shakes it. “Please feel free to dump your crap on me.” She grins. “It’s sort of my job, after all.”

Clarke chews on her lip, unsure what her angle is, but grateful, all the same. 

After a moment of hesitation, she admits, quickly, waving a hand, “I got robbed and it fucking sucks. Now, I probably have to move back to a town where I know everyone and their mother and I’ll never understand the place my dad came from.” 

She shakes her head, hating even the thought of it all. 

Continuing, she gets out, “I’ll live a boring, unadventurous life and become something like a General Practitioner for kids and treat the common cold my entire existence. And then I’ll die, bored and never having done anything real in my whole life and…” 

It’s then that she realizes the bartender is biting her cheek, clearly holding in a laugh.

“Fucking hell,” Clarke lets out. “I really just gave you my beyond pathetic life story. Ignore me, please.”

“No, no,” Octavia says around a laugh. “Please, go on. I love pathetic life stories. Makes my life a little less pathetic in comparison.”

She sighs. “Jesus, I need someone to tell me to shut it, not the opposite.” She takes a long drink from her whiskey. “But I’m glad I could be of help.”

Octavia goes to say something else, but then someone calls her over by name. “I’ll be right back,” she says, which is unexpected, considering Clarke just unloaded years of internalized fears on her. 

She thinks maybe she’ll return to refill her glass or something like that, and she does come back around twenty minutes later, with a fresh whiskey. 

“This one’s on the house,” Octavia tells her.

“Oh, no, I can’t…” Clarke starts before she realizes that she is indeed broke and Octavia’s being so damn nice. Octavia only raises a brow and Clarke relents far too fast than is acceptable, “Okay, maybe I do accept free booze.”

Octavia smirks. “That’s more like it.”

Aside from checking in with the other tables and patrons occasionally, it seems to be a slow night, so Clarke doesn’t feel too bad about the two of them talking, getting to know one another more as the night goes on. 

Clarke learns that Octavia is eighteen and isn’t going to university, despite her older brother’s protests. She says she wants to travel the world, but feels she can’t leave her brother behind. In turn, Clarke tells her about adoring science in school but being scared to tie herself down to medical school. That as much as she loves her mom, she isn’t sure she wants her life. It’s shocking how easy it is to talk to her. Although Clarke knows part of it is the whiskey, there’s an ease to how they speak to one another. 

She’s shocked to learn that she’s stuck around as long as she has when Octavia tells her, “I would be more than happy to let you sit here and tell me more about your very sad life, but unfortunately, we’re closing in a few.”

“Right,” she rolls her eyes at herself, “I’m sorry if I’ve kept you or…”

“Relax,” she replies. She seems to think through something before adding, “Look, I don’t mean to assume, but considering you got robbed and are in over your head, is it wrong for me to ask if you have a place to stay tonight?”

“Shit,” Clarke lets out. She recovers quickly enough. “It’s okay. I’ll use my mom’s credit card for a hotel or something.”

Octavia shakes her head. “The chances of that aren’t likely. Besides, the cost’ll eat you alive.” Clarke’s about to ask what the hell she’s supposed to do then when she goes on, “I know I could very well be an ax-murderer, but I do have a couch, and you’re welcome to crash on it until you can figure out the rest.”

It doesn’t feel real, that she’d meet the nicest bartender in the whole city, and then she’d also offer to let her sleep in her house.

“What if I’m an ax-murderer?” Clarke proposes, delaying the inevitable in which she accepts Octavia’s offer. Just because she knows she’s desperate doesn’t mean she wants to immediately cave. 

She huffs out a laugh. “I’ll take my chances. I bet I can take you, even with an ax.” She lifts her arm and shows off the muscles there for good measure. “See?” 

Clarke sucks at her teeth. “If it really wouldn’t be a bother or anything. Seriously, I can figure something out. I’m not, you know, a lost duckling you have to take care of or anything.”

Octavia shakes her head and grins. “Please, of course, that is exactly what you are.” She pats the bar top. “Just give me a bit to clean up and get the stragglers out of here. My flat’s not huge, just a warning, but it beats living with my brother above the bar.” She feigns a shudder. “I did sixteen years of that, and trust me, it’s not worth the benefits of his cooking.”

She laughs and raises her hands in defeat. “You won’t hear any complaints from me, trust me, but I hope it’s okay with him you’ve been giving me free drinks all night.” 

“Please,” Octavia dismisses. “He’s such a softie, albeit a secret one. He’d probably do the same.” She rolls her eyes and wrinkles her nose in disgust. “Though he’d probably try and sleep with you, too.”

From her stories, Clarke feels like she already knows Bellamy, Octavia’s big brother. According to her, he’s a constant worrier and enjoys taking care of all the regulars. A mythology nerd, he went to university for a year, but then their mom passed away, and he dropped out to make sure Octavia didn’t get shipped off to other relatives. Clarke somehow feels she might get the chance to meet him, even as she insists she’s going back to Arkadia. Every time she mentioned it over the course of the night, Octavia just gave her this smirk, the kind that says, ‘sure, Clarke’. 

Bellamy’s the one who actually runs the bar most of the time, taking it over when their mother died from a prolonged illness.  _ The Dropship  _ has been in the family for years, but it was their mom who made it what it is. It was at  _ The Dropship  _ that she met both Bellamy’s dad, who died unexpectedly in an accident at work when Bellamy was a baby, and then Octavia’s as well, who didn’t stick around long once Aurora told him she was pregnant. 

Even though she barely knows them, Clarke hates the thought that Octavia and Bellamy have already been through so much before either one of them turned twenty-five. Octavia, having heard Clarke’s own story about her dad dying a year ago, pointed out that they weren’t the only ones with sob stories. She’s learning that it’s usually useless to argue with Octavia, which she isn’t sure is an entirely good thing. She’s grateful though, and lucky, to have stumbled into the right pub, so she knows she doesn’t have any right to even start to complain or question her generosity.

Once Octavia closes down the pub, they make the short journey to her flat. As she said, it’s small, but still, adorable and charming in its own way. It even has a little balcony on which Octavia has put a few herbs and flowers. Clarke’s enamored with the space, if nothing else than it feels so unlike anything she’d find in Arkadia. Octavia, meanwhile, is simply amused.

“It’s not that exciting,” she says. 

Clarke scoffs. “If you saw where I came from, you’d understand just how wrong that is.”

Octavia allows this, having heard stories about Clarke’s hometown over the course of the night. “Alright, you might have a point. Since you really do know absolutely everyone in your town. Not to mention that you only have one pub.”

She grins, feeling a little triumphant. “Exactly.” She shakes her head in disbelief at herself. “Honestly, it’s no surprise I got robbed, given everything.”

“Eh,” Octavia says. “Could’ve happened to any dumbass American, not just you.”

“Thanks,” Clarke replies, dry. 

“Just trying to help make you feel better,” she adds around a laugh. It’s just as dry as Clarke’s tone and despite herself, she smiles. 

“Yeah, you’re really generous.” But then Clarke remembers exactly where she is and why and that she’s probably the luckiest ugly American in the whole city. “I mean, you are,” she clarifies, “but,” she waves a hand, “I appreciate the effort. Really. It’s...I don’t know how to begin to thank you.”

Octavia shrugs. “I don’t mind, so don’t go making a thing of it. But I  _ am _ exhausted, so I’ll set you up on the couch and then I’m gonna go sleep for thirteen hours.”

She nods. “Of course. Thank you, again.”

Octavia shoots over her shoulder as she rummages around in a small closet, “Please, stop thanking me. Bellamy will never be able to recover if it all goes to my head.”

“For his sake then, I’ll cool it with the ‘thank you’s,” Clarke decides.

Octavia smirks and rolls her eyes. “I’m just gonna put it out there that I’m like ninety-percent sure you’re gonna get with my brother, which, honestly, I should’ve expected the moment we met, but as long as I never have to know about the details, we’re good.”

Clarke stutters, unsure of what to do with that. “But I’m not even staying, I’m probably booking a ticket tomorrow and going home. So, I will never even know your brother, let alone have the chance to  _ hook up  _ with him.”

“Sure you are,” Octavia dismisses and then heads to bed.

Before Clarke falls asleep, she can’t help but think Octavia might have a point. Not about Clarke and Bellamy, because that seems as impossible as anything. She knows, vaguely, that she already thinks he’s great, but she highly doubts he’d ever be interested in some small town girl like herself. Rather, it’s the fact that she’s still insistent that she’s leaving tomorrow. Even though she never called her mom and hasn’t even looked at available tickets on her freshly charged phone (thanks to Octavia) yet. As sleep takes over, her last thought is wondering if she might just make it in Dublin after all. 

* * *

Clarke doesn’t leave the next day. Or the day after that. Instead, Octavia puts her to work at  _ The Dropship _ , hostessing and waiting tables when a waitress calls out at the last minute. She calls her mom and tells her she has a place to stay and a job, though leaves out some of the details, if only so she won’t worry. 

She doesn’t meet Bellamy until her fourth day in Dublin because he took some time off to drive to Wicklow Mountains National Park with his friends Monty and Miller (another two expats who moved from the States for university and never left) and Murphy. Who she isn’t sure has a first name. 

When she finally does interact with Bellamy Blake for the first time, it isn’t at all how she ever imagined. It’s terrible, for one, because he’s nothing like she thought. As if that wasn’t bad enough,  _ she’s  _ terrible. 

She isn’t even sure when exactly things go wrong, but she thinks it starts immediately, when Bellamy, Monty, Murphy, and Miller come into the bar and he sees her wiping down a table and chatting with a regular.

She hasn’t seen a picture of Bellamy, and while she later recognizes the similarities between him and Octavia, she doesn’t at first. Instead, she tries to seat them all. 

“Can I help you guys?” she asks. “Maybe a table or seats at the bar?”

Monty and Miller exchange a look. Murphy bites his cheek. Of course, she doesn’t know who they are in the moment, and after, she’s more than mortified. 

Bellamy ticks his jaw. “Yeah, you can help explain what the hell you’re doing.”

Clarke frowns. “Excuse me?”

“Who do you think you are?” he demands, not even bothering with any kind of courtesy. He seems to have decided who she is before she even has a chance. Plus, she can’t imagine why a random patron cares this much about the new girl. In fact, most of them  _ like  _ her. 

“Octavia told me I could help out. I wanted to do what I can, considering I’m crashing with her while I figure something else out,” she tries to explain, but it doesn’t feel completely right, and she thinks too late that she doesn’t sound nearly thankful enough. 

“Of course you are,” he responds, rolling his eyes. “Just using her until you can get something better, are you?”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” she says, finding her voice more defensive than she means. She can’t help it though, not when his tone is accusing her of not understanding just how generous Octavia’s been. A place to sleep. A job. That’s more than she ever thought she’d get in her first days here. 

“Girls like you always do,” he fires back. 

“What is that supposed to mean?” she asks, jutting out her chin. 

She thinks to herself,  _ Whoever this guy is, he sure is an asshole _ . 

He scoffs and smiles at her cruelly. “You think you can just walk in here and treat my little sister like she’s expendable because she doesn’t know when she’s being used until you get bored and head back to your brownstone in Brooklyn.”

It registers that this is Bellamy. Octavia’s brother, Bellamy. The one she thought she’d get along with, and clearly, Octavia thought the same. She’d been looking forward to meeting him, actually. Now, she wishes she never did. 

“You don’t know the first thing about me,” she seethes.

He shakes his head. “One look at you and I know  _ everything  _ that I need to know.”

She gets up in his space and she registers Bellamy’s friends’ reactions. A mix of fear and worry and from Murphy, intrigue and excitement. Bellamy gets up in hers as well, but she doesn’t back down. Doesn’t even think about it. 

Clarke grins and keeps her eyes trained on his. She isn’t going to even blink because she knows if she does, he’ll think he’s won something. “If you need to convince yourself of that, then that tells me everything that I need to know about you.”

“Oh, great, you two finally met,” Octavia says coming over, but the smile on her face fades fast when she takes in the scene. 

“What did you do?” Bellamy asks, cutting his gaze from Clarke to Octavia. She crosses her arms over her chest, feeling petulant and childish but wanting to throttle him all the same. 

“This is Clarke,” Octavia gestures to her. “The misfit toy I told you about. Remember?” she asks. “Clarke,” she continues and gestures to the guy, “this is Bellamy.”

It’s then that Bellamy looks like he realizes he might’ve fucked up, if only a little. It gives her a sick kind of satisfaction. 

“Shit,” he says.

Clarke shakes her head. “Octavia, I thought you said your brother wasn’t a jerk,” she finds herself spitting out. 

Octavia presses her lips together. “Clarke, why don’t you go behind the bar. I’ve got to have a few words with my big brother here.”

She’s more than happy to leave behind Bellamy. That asshole. She doesn’t understand how the person Octavia described is the same one she just met. Out of the corner of her eye right after she goes back to work, she sees Octavia waving her arms and gesturing to Clarke. Bellamy rubs a hand over his jaw and argues back. She knows better than to get involved in  _ that _ , but can’t help but feel awful that she’s the reason for the feud.

Over the course of the night, she tries to reconcile Octavia’s stories with the person she’d so immediately taken a dislike to, and someone who seemed to dislike her just as much. If not more than she did. It makes her wonder if she’s going to still have a job at the end of the night. Already, the tentative dreams she started to have once more after her first day start to sour. If Bellamy doesn’t want her around, she can’t see how Octavia will be able to convince him to keep her on, and if she doesn’t have a job, then she really will have to go back to Arkadia. 

Octavia comes over to her later on in the night, and she figures it’s to tell her to not bother coming in tomorrow, and that she has to be out of her flat. Clarke prepares herself for it, and wills herself to not break down, or even worse, do something horrifying like cry. She doesn’t think her pride would ever survive that. 

“So, I know this might be a long-shot, but I hope Bellamy didn’t make you realize you’re better off going home than spending one more minute in his presence,” Octavia says. 

Clarke frowns. “You’re not kicking me out or firing me?”

Octavia blinks at her. “Why the hell would I do that?” Her tone turns a little defensive. “Do you really think I’d just abandon you like that?”

She chews her lip, understanding her mistake for underestimating Octavia. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say I think you’d do that it’s just...Well, I figured Bellamy wouldn’t want me around after that shining introduction.”

Octavia waves it off, as if she and her brother weren’t seconds away from having a full on fight in the middle of the bar before she interrupted them. 

“Bell’s just an ass, sometimes. He’s protective of me. Usually, a little too much.” 

There’s a simultaneous softness and edge to her tone. Two contradicting feelings that seem to coexist despite the fact that they shouldn’t in her mind. Clarke wonders how she manages to understand both, to see her brother as two different things. It makes her ache for Wells, who is the closest person she has to a brother. Aside from her mom, he’s the person she regrets leaving behind the most. He told her to follow her dream, and she hopes that it isn’t over before it’s even seriously begun. 

“So, I can stay?” she asks, still hesitant. 

Octavia grins and claps Clarke on the shoulder. “Of course. We need the help around here, and I don’t trust Murphy to not steal from us.”

Clarke laughs, half-surprise, half-relief. “You might have a point there. After all, you showed off your ability to kick my ass the first night we met.”

Though she knows Octavia might not want to kick her out, she wouldn’t have been shocked if she picked her brother’s wishes over her generosity. It makes her even more thankful that, for whatever dumb luck or chance, she ended up in the best beaten-down pub in the city. 

“You bet your ass,” she tells Clarke with a grin. “Now, get back to work, slacker.”

Clarke rolls her eyes but goes back to take the orders of a couple who just took seats at the bartop. For the rest of the night, the work keeps her busy. Which is preferable since she can practically feel Bellamy’s glare on her all night. He’s at a back table with his friends, but even then, she feels like she can’t escape it. Though she knows her job is safe for now, it doesn’t completely put her at ease. After all, it’s Bellamy who’s actually her boss as he owns and runs the bar the majority of the time. 

She has a feeling things are going to get worse before they get better, and even then, the idea that things could ever be  _ good  _ feels far too impossible. 

* * *

Bellamy is gonna send Clarke packing, and it has everything to do with her making goddamn  _ changes  _ to  _ his  _ bar. He knows that if he even tries to get rid of her though, he’ll never hear the end of it from Octavia. Not to mention, he’s pretty sure that Clarke’s intent on staying. If his constant glares and ploys to make her feel unwelcome are anything to go by, he suspects she’s hardly one to scare off easily. 

It starts with small things. First, she starts fancying up the chalkboards that have their draft selection. Then she roots around at thrift stores and cleans up the sign outside. By the time she’s been working there two months, she and Octavia are planning on finding a two bedroom flat for both of them to live in. Two weeks later, he comes in to open for the first shift to find Clarke hanging framed posters and artwork on the walls. That’s another thing: she is always around, working or offering to work. He can’t escape her. 

“The hell are you doing to my pub now?” he asks, in that same unforgiving tone he’s managed to maintain whenever he’s around her.

He doesn’t like it or think he’s a good person for it, but he just can’t stop himself. He’s constantly annoyed by her and how she’s trying to ‘improve’ the pub and the ways she’s made friends with Monty and Miller and even Murphy, the traitors. She’s wormed her way into his whole life. 

She rolls her eyes and huffs out, “Trying to make it even the slightest bit welcoming. Have you seen what the other places in the area have on their walls?”

He crosses his arms over his chest. “Why would you think I’d ever want to do what they’re doing? Haven’t you managed to detect by now that we have no interest in being some posh bullshit you’re so clearly accustomed to?” 

She steps down from a table and stares him down. “I asked Octavia, and she told me to go wild.”

“It’s not Octavia’s place,” he counters.

She shrugs. “Fine, but I’m not taking any of it down, so you’ll have to either get off your own ass or blackmail Murphy into doing it.”

“I can blackmail Murphy into doing  _ anything _ ,” he says, not even believing it but needing to argue with her all the same. He doesn’t know why he keeps talking to her, can’t explain why he feels the need to antagonize her. Like he’s a kid on a playground pulling her pigtails. 

Clarke comes out to him and gives him a cheery smile. She pats him on the arm as she passes him. “Of course you can.” Not even bothering to ask, she starts hanging garlands with different flags from the world over one of the booths. 

“I could just fire you on the spot. I might not be able to keep you from Octavia or my damn friends, but I can keep you out of my place of work,” he threatens, not for the first time.

That does make her pause. She turns around, still standing on a table and narrows her eyes for a moment. She brightens and then replies, “No, you won’t.”

He knows he’s meant to be too busy hating her to find her charming, but dammit, this girl makes him smile. 

Thankfully, she doesn’t see it, too busy with the task in front of her. He doesn’t know how many times they’ve had this sort of exchange, but it’s more than he can count. Though he doesn’t understand it, they all seem loaded, in some way. There’s a tension there he doesn’t know what to do with. Of course, objectively, he knows Clarke is hot, and he knows she probably acknowledges he’s hot. But nothing will ever come from it because they can’t stand one another, and even if it did, it would be the worst idea in the world to get involved with her. 

He’s still thinking about how horrendous it would be when he notices Clarke place her foot wrong on the edge of the table. Before he can even think about what he’s doing, he rushes over to her, and catches her just in time before she can crash to the floor. She’s in his arms bridal style and for a moment, they just look at one another. He isn’t sure what it means, that neither one of them breaks the contact.

But then he breaks the moment, clearing his throat and setting her back down on her feet. “Better be more careful, Princess. I don’t wanna get blamed if you get yourself killed.”

“Right,” she says, her voice a bit strained, but he wonders if he’s just looking for it to be rather than the actual reality. “Because you’re my knight in shining armor.”

He finds himself grinning. “Well, if you’re gonna call me anything then…”

She shoves at his shoulder. “Shut up.” Shaking her head, she continues, “I’ll go check the back to make sure we’re all ready for the night. I have a feeling it’s gonna be a hellish one.” 

“Yeah, probably,” he responds. 

With that, she’s off. He waits for a moment before he does it, and it’s despite his better judgement, but he finishes hanging the garland for her. Whatever. It’s not like it’s a big deal. Besides, they did get some compliments on their new sign the other day. There are worse things than making the place a ‘bit more welcoming’ as she said. As much as he likes the pub as is, he knows Clarke’s trying to help, and that Octavia probably mentioned the past year’s been hard for them. He hates her knowing his weaknesses, his private business, but he knows it’s useless to try and kick her out on her ass now. 

As Clarke predicted, it is a shit night. They have people coming in nonstop and it’s chaos by the bar. Bellamy finds himself cursing for ever even deciding to open the place, that’s how bad shit is for them. Octavia shows up even though she’s not supposed to work, and he’s more than a little surprised.

She rolls her eyes and tells him, “No need to look so shocked. Clarke called me.”

He gives her an unimpressed look and she adds, “Just because you’re intent on not liking her because you harbor some secret feelings doesn’t mean the rest of us are.”

“What?” he spits out, not believing her words for a moment. He doesn’t have  _ secret feelings  _ for Clarke. He doesn’t have feelings for her. Period. Unless those feelings are ones of irritation and grumbling acceptance. 

Octavia shrugs. “I thought you knew.”

He furrows his brow. “There are no secret feelings.”

“Of course, there aren’t,” she replies, so smug he considers disowning her. 

“Octavia—” he starts but then they’re both called away to deal with patrons and he doesn’t have a chance to grill her for the rest of the night. 

When they finally close, bordering into the early morning, he’s worn out and aching and wishing for bed and many hours of sleep. Octavia leaves without much fanfare, which gives him pause. Usually, she only refrains from sticking around for a drink after work when she’s dating someone. God help him. As if he needs that on top of the Clarke of it all. 

Speaking of her, she does stick around to help clean up. She’s wiping down tables and washing out the glassware while he figures out how much her and Octavia are owed for their night’s work. 

“You can go home, you know that, right?” he asks. 

Clarke looks up from where she’s cleaning down the bar top. “I don’t mind.”

He rolls his eyes. “You know I won’t fire you by now so—”

“Seriously, Bellamy. I’m appreciative of everything Octavia, and even you, have given to me. I’m a hard worker, and I’m not gonna leave you to deal with everything by yourself.” She considers this. “Though maybe I should, considering you’re such an ass half the time.”

Bellamy does feel bad then. For how they met. For every interaction since, really. He knows he misjudged her, but it’s hard for him to let go of it, to accept that he was wrong and there’s more to her than a well-off girl from a stable home life. Octavia refuses to give him many details, but he knows she lost her dad a year ago, that he’s the reason she can get citizenship in Ireland, and that his death broke her and her mom. If he doesn’t offer an olive branch now, he knows he never will, so, before he can talk himself out of it, he goes for it. 

“How about a drink?” he asks. Then goes on, “You know, to make up for being an ass. Even if it’s only half the time.” He manages to smile a bit. 

“I don’t know...” she trails off, her face not giving anything away. 

For a moment, he gets nervous. Like she might really hate him. A thought filters through his mind that there’s a reason he doesn’t want her to, but he dismisses it as soon as it comes. 

She cackles then and points at him and says, “Oh my god, you’re face!” She’s so delighted, he can’t even manage to stay pissed, as much as he wants to be a dick about it. 

“I would love a drink,” she adds and gets up onto a stool across from him. “You’re finest whiskey, please.”

He snorts. “I’ll give you Jameson.”

She taps her chin. “Very well. Though you denying me the top shelf stuff is just another strike against you,” she warns. 

He snorts and gives her a once-over. “I’ll survive.”

“You don’t even know how many strikes you have though,” she argues as he turns around to grab the bottle off the shelf. “You could be playing in dangerous waters.”

He pours them both a healthy amount of booze and pushes her glass toward her. “Shut it and drink your whiskey.”

Clarke smirks around her glass. She takes a long drag, almost finishing half of it, and then tells him, “You’re only saying that because you know I’m right.”

He huffs out, “You really can’t give me a break, can you?”

“Nope,” she replies, her eyes alight with something that brings him closer to her. He leans across the bar. 

“You’re too much, you know that?” he asks. 

He sips from his own glass, draining almost half of it when she says, “Oh, yeah, I know.”

For some reason, this feels strangely like flirting. Which he doesn’t know how to deal with, let alone accept as actual reality. If he knows anything about Clarke in the time since he’s met her, it’s that she definitely would not flirt with him. Not even with almost a full shot of whiskey in her. He can’t get rid of the feeling though that there’s something happening between them. Octavia’s words come back to him, and he hates her for even putting the idea in his head in the first place. 

They have more drinks after that. And then more. Clarke comes back behind the bar and sits on the bartop. He only half-scolds her for it because she makes the argument she’s on tomorrow and will have to clean it again anyways. He’s thinking they should call it a night. Probably so they can both sleep so they won’t be dead on their feet tomorrow. 

He’s laughing at an impression she’s doing of Monty and Miller. How they dance around the fact that they’re very much in love even though they act like they aren’t. 

She takes a large breath and sips from her glass. “Honestly, one of them’s gotta make a move. It’s exhausting to look at them.”

“Tell me about it,” he says. “Murphy and I have a long-standing bet about it.”

“That’s just sad.” She sighs. “Ah, to be young and in love and a dumbass.”

He snorts. “Something like that.”

“You know,  _ I  _ would never want to be that much of a dumbass.” She gives him this look and it kind of sends his head spinning. It’s all heat and a question that goes unsaid but it’s there all the same. Just as quickly though, she looks away and takes a long drag from her drink, finishing it. “Sorry...I, uh.” She coughs. “Sorry.”

Bellamy doesn’t have to think about it very long. Maybe one a couple of seconds. “Don’t be,” he gets out. 

Then he brings her closer to him by cupping her face in her hand and kisses her. 

It’s soft only for a moment before it turns searing. Crashing together again and again. Only taking breaks to breathe and laugh. She tangles her hands in his hair and opens up her legs so he can step between them and get even closer to her. Wrapping her legs around his waist, they exchange hot kisses for a while longer before she grinds her hips against his. They both moan and break apart. 

“You live upstairs right?” she asks, her chest heaving a bit. 

“Yeah.” He nods. “But Clarke, we’ve been drinking and I don’t want you to do anything you’re not sure about.”

“Bellamy.” She rolls her eyes and kisses him briefly, just once. “I’ve been thinking about this since our second interaction.”

He screws up his face. “You mean when I was working on putting the stools back together?”

“You were shirtless! I am but a simple disaster bi,” she defends herself. 

He shakes with his own laughter and she swats at his shoulder. “Forget it,” she says. “I don’t wanna fuck you anymore.” He knows she’s only joking about it though, as she doesn’t make any other moves to create distance between them.

“Well, if that’s it then…” he trails off and then grins as she pulls him against her to kiss him again. 

“You’re an ass like seventy-five percent of the time now,” she mumbles against his mouth. 

He grins. “I take it we’re going upstairs.”

She leans back. “Well, I guess…If you’re not doing anything better and—” But the air goes out of her when he lifts her up and off the bar. 

Digging her hands into his shoulders, she in turn surprises him by bringing him down so their lips meet once more. Clarke backs him up against the bar and they lose themselves in the moment again. She starts sucking what he suspects is going to be a very embarrassing hickey onto his neck when he backs her off of him, making her whine in response. God. He  _ needs  _ to hear that sound from her again. Preferably in an entirely different position. 

She tugs on his hand and leads him up the stairs. He presses her up against the railing for a moment, placing his mouth down her neck, trailing it almost to her chest. She laughs and grabs his hand once more. 

“Come on.” She’s laughing and has that shine to her eyes he noticed early. “It’ll feel better in a bed, I promise.” 

They go stumbling through the door to his flat, with him kicking it closed behind him as they latch onto one another, teasing one another as they go. They collapse onto the bed, with Bellamy practically breathless between the laughing and kissing. He doesn’t remember the last time he had this much  _ fun _ with someone. Not someone he really knew anyways, not that he’s sure he knows Clarke. For the first time though, he thinks he wants to though. 

Though there’s a healthy amount of whiskey in both of their bodies, he’s able to pay the amount of attention to her he knows she deserves. Attention he didn’t realize he wanted to give until tonight. They get lost in touches and jokes and practically tear off one another’s clothes. Her jeans get stuck for a second, and she giggles against his neck as he helps her get them off. He kisses her mouth, her neck, her breasts. He keeps going and looks up as she bites her lip when he places his mouth on the inside of her thighs. 

He gets his mouth on her and she pants out his name. It makes him ache with want for her even more. When he crooks his fingers inside her with his tongue flat against her, she does make that whine from earlier. He keeps going until she cries out and he pins her hips down with his arm. When he brings her to the place she needs, he smirks and looks up at her. 

“Shut. Up,” she gets out. “And come here.”

He complies, suddenly all too happy to give her what she wants now that it doesn’t have to do with her changing the decor of his pub. 

On the first thrust, both of them stutter out moans, which makes her laugh dryly. Their hips snap together and he’s surprised by the things that come out of his mouth, the curses and teases and other things, too. Clarke doesn’t seem to mind though, in fact, she meets him right where he is with every word. Quickly after her, He buries his face into the crook of her neck as she swirls her hips and makes him follow her off his own edge. 

They lie in the dark and lazily touch one another for a while, not saying anything.

“So,” Clarke says.

He looks over at her and raises a brow. “So?”

“That was fun, right?” she asks.

He nods and tells her in a dry tone, “Yes, Clarke, that was fun. Sometimes, sex is. So I’ve heard.”

She waves a hand. “Well, luckily you got to have sex with me, so you finally know what it’s like.”

“So funny.” He leans over and kisses her shoulder, though he’s not sure if that’s appropriate, not sure what they’re actually doing here. He settles back down onto his back and thinks about not asking, but in the end, finds that he can’t avoid it. “This, uh, you know, if you want, that is, this could, well...”

“Bellamy,” she gets out around a laugh. “I would be honored to have sex with you again sometime.”

He lets out a breath. “Good, I was afraid this was going to get real weird real fast and I don’t think Octavia would ever forgive me if I screwed up the new ‘group dynamic.’” This last part he puts in quotes. 

“There’s a group dynamic now?” She grins. “I thought you didn’t want me around.”

“Yeah, well, you really respected that, didn’t you?” he questions.

“You’re right, you probably wanna be alone,” she replies. Then she acts like she’s going to get up out of the bed and continues, “I’m gonna go, you know, so you can contemplate life on your own.” 

He pulls her back down and she flops onto the bed, both of them laughing at the ridiculousness of it all. He can’t believe that the night’s turned into what it is, that it’s something he thought would never happen. The idea of him and Clarke laughing together might be more unbelievable than the sex part. Which he really doesn’t know how he’s meant to feel about. 

“Ah,” she says. “So you  _ do  _ like my company?”

He brings her close against him and starts to trace random patterns on her shoulder. “Maybe a little.”

They drift off to sleep like that. The next morning, they both agree that it’s just sex, and they don’t want to complicate things further with anything more. Clarke jokes that it would never work anyways, since they obviously hate each other. Bellamy laughs along, but isn’t sure who he’s trying to convince more. Her, or himself. 

* * *

It takes Octavia three days, but she comes in for her shift and takes one look at Clarke and Bellamy and says, flat, “You guys are fucking.”

Clarke blushes and starts to stutter out a reply. Something between denial and some part admittance. Bellamy merely shrugs. 

“You gonna kill me for it?” he asks.

Octavia considers it. “Only if you fuck it up.” She shoots a look at Clarke. “I stand by what I said the night we first met. No details. Ever.” 

Clarke swallows and nods. “Won’t be a problem.”

For a while after that, Bellamy thinks things go well. He and Clarke work together and then sleep together. It’s no big deal.

But, well, things aren’t always that easy. Like when one of the regulars, Cillian, keeps asking Clarke questions and talking her up, clearly flirting. She never encourages him when Bellamy’s around or in earshot, but she doesn’t shut it down completely. He finds himself not flirting with anyone, which is sort of a surprise to himself. Usually, he’s all too willing to chat up a pretty girl, even if it’s only to keep them drinking and bring in more money. 

He tells himself he isn’t jealous of the Cillian and Clarke situation, but one night, he brings him up to Clarke.

“You would think the guy would get some hobbies, or like, some better moves,” Bellamy says.

Clarke looks over at him, her breathing just steadying after their second round of wearing one another out. 

“You think?” she asks.

He shrugs. “I mean, the dude does wear like a shit ton of tunics.”

Clarke laughs and shoves at his shoulder. “Bellamy Blake: Fashion Dictator.”

He huffs but cracks another joke at Cillian that has her snorting, and feels much better about bringing it up. 

They don’t discuss it more than that or anything in too much detail, just keep making fun of Cillian, mostly. The next night they’re both working though, Clarke does discourage the flirting and Cillian moves on to a different victim. 

One night, they’re cleaning up and having a beer and Clarke says, “Can we talk?” 

He thinks it’s all over. That they’re done and she doesn’t want to sleep with him anymore. Shit. He hopes she hasn’t met anyone. Then he can’t escape from knowing what it means that he doesn’t want her to have met anyone and almost has a whole crisis about it. Then he sees the hesitation in her eyes and she’s biting her lip and he realizes he hasn’t replied yet. 

“Of course,” he says, kind of rough to cover up the surge of emotions he’s feeling. 

“I was thinking…” She swallows and he thinks,  _ Fuck, this is it _ .  “Could I paint the wall on the side of the bar?” she finishes, not at all what he expected for her to say. He blinks at her, taking in his confusion and trying to piece together a response. She takes his lack of one as a dismissal before he can say anything. 

“It’s okay if not,” she adds. “I don’t mean for it to be...Like you have to now that we’re, you know. I just wanted to ask because I’ve been thinking about it for months and I know I can come up with a hundred reasons why you’d say no, but I have this idea for it and it won’t leave me alone and…” 

“Clarke,” he interrupts. 

She takes a breath. “It’s okay, you can say no.”

“I’d love it if you would do that,” he tells her. 

“You would?” she responds, disbelief evident in her tone, but her eyes are shining with hope and excitement. He feels awful for dimming it even a little because of his own mess of feelings.

“Hell, yes, Clarke, of course.” He doesn’t think too much about it before he adds, “I know I threw a bitch fit every time you changed something around here, but you really made the place better. Our earnings are way up, and you’ve at least gotta know that it’s all because of you. So, yeah, paint the wall. Paint whatever you want.”

The expression on Clarke’s face is unreadable. She seems sort of shocked but also intent on covering something else up. Though he doesn’t know what it is and feels like he can’t ask her. Whatever tentative friendship or casual sex relationship between them exists is fragile. He doesn’t want to risk screwing it up, especially when he’s starting to understand he wants more than just sex from her. 

She smiles at him, and even though he can tell she’s happy, he sees she’s holding something back, too. 

“Thank you, Bellamy, really. That means...It means so much more than I can ever say, honestly.” 

She grins and goes back to wiping down a table. That night, they don’t have sex and he does his best to not berate himself but it doesn’t work. He can’t help but feel that even though he didn’t tell her anything about how he feels about her, she somehow knows anyway. And is no doubt freaked the fuck out. 

He’s still beating himself up for it when Clarke starts to work on the mural on the outside side of the bar. She won’t tell him what the design is, saying it’s a secret. After a couple of days, the weirdness dissipates a little. Which basically means he and Clarke go back to how things were before she asked him to paint the mural. They work together. They have sex. They have fun. Bellamy does his best to not think too much about how every time she smiles at him, his chest gets all tight. Life goes on.

Of course, Murphy tells him he’s an idiot. Then Monty and Miller tell him he’s an idiot, though kinder and in less blatant terms, and privately. He says to each of them that they don’t get to judge, given their current situation. That shuts them up, but only for a couple of weeks.

In all, it takes a month and a half for Clarke to finish painting the wall. During that time, he realizes three things. One: He’s in love with Clarke. Two: He’s probably had feelings for her since the moment he met her and was just too much of an ass to recognize it. Three: He’s got to figure out one hell of a way to tell her without ruining everything. 

“I think I’m done,” Clarke says one night as she comes in to help Bellamy get ready for the night.

There’s a nervousness to her tone, so he assures her that it’ll be amazing. That she’s more talented than she gives herself credit for, and he’s never been so grateful his sister took in some pathetic American. 

“You really think so?” she asks, amazement in her voice. 

“No shit,” he replies. “Clarke, if it’s half as good as anything you’ve done in here,” he looks around at the decorated pub, the intricate details on the chalkboard, “then it’ll be fucking incredible.”

She grins and leans up and quickly kisses him. “You’re getting soft on me,” she says, teasing. 

He huffs and rolls his eyes. “You’re right. Back to work.” 

She salutes him and he swats at her butt when she turns around. 

“Ass,” she shoots over her shoulder.

“Yep,” he responds, grinning. 

It’s a slower night, so while they’re both hanging out by the bar, chatting with regulars, he goes over to her and says, as casual as he can, “We should have a party for the mural.”

“Really?” she asks. “I mean, you sure that we have any interest in that kind of thing?” She’s smirking and he remembers what he said before, and knows she’s giving him shit. 

“Now who’s the ass?” he asks.

“Well, I blame you,” she responds, her eyes bright. “You’re wearing off on me.”

“Right,” he nods, “go ahead and blame the innocent.”

Clarke gets called over to one of the booths but before she goes, she tells him, “You wanna prove how innocent you are later tonight?” She winks and he snorts and tells her to get to work but returns her smile all the same. 

That night, after she falls asleep, he knows he has to tell her how he feels. He’s hoping that he’ll be lucky and Clarke will return his feelings. Even if it’s messy. Even if it screws things up. He doesn’t care. He needs her to know, if only because a piece of him really does believe she wants him in the same way. 

Clarke keeps a tarp over the wall for the entire next week, since she still wants it to be a surprise, while Bellamy, with the enthusiastic help from Octavia, plans the party. Clarke tries to help, too, but he insists it’s  _ for her  _ and she shouldn’t have to plan something celebrating her. 

Octavia plans to bring her travel writer boyfriend, some guy who’s Bellamy’s age named Lincoln and isn’t even sure if he’ll be in Dublin two weeks from now. Bellamy isn’t thrilled about the relationship, but Clarke is, and told him to try not to be such a grump about it. When that didn’t work, she threw in a blow job, and that definitely made him feel better.

The day of the party comes and Clarke dresses up a little in a dress and heeled boots, with more makeup than he’s seen on her ever. She looks amazing, which he can’t help but take note of, but really, he takes note of her  _ always  _ these days. 

“You ready?” he asks as they prepare to bring down the tarp. Everyone’s waiting, just drinking out on the street and hanging out. 

Clarke nods, but he can tell she’s nervous. So, he grasps her hand in his and gives it a squeeze. 

“It’s gonna be fucking beautiful, ‘cause it’s you,” he tells her. 

She bites her lip. “I hope so.” 

As Murphy gets up on the ladder to take down the sheet concealing the mural, Clarke leans against Bellamy’s side. Without thinking about it, he wraps an arm around her waist. She looks at him, again with some nerves, and he wonders just what exactly she painted. When the mural’s revealed, he’s blown away. Not just because of the obvious talent she has, but everything about it. 

She painted  _ them _ . All of them. Octavia and Bellamy. Miller, Monty, and Murphy. Her friends Wells and Emori, and her mom. Even his own mother, smiling at the upper corner of the mural. They’re all there under a banner of  _ The Dropship _ . He doesn’t think he’s ever seen something that is this amazing. Of course, the part that his eyes are trained on is him and Clarke. Their painted selves mirror their actual position in the moment. She’s tucked against his side and his arm is around her. They’re looking at each other and he knows, without a doubt. Clarke loves him, too. 

Everyone gives Clarke congratulations and showers her in compliments, but after long, he can’t stand it anymore, and tugs her inside the bar under the guise of needing her help with getting more beer. 

“So, um—” she starts, but he cuts her off by kissing her. 

“I’m in love with you,” he says.

She lets out a relieved breath. “Oh, thank god.” She kisses him and laughs when they break apart. “Because if you didn’t, that mural was gonna be real fucking awkward.”

He snorts and raises a brow when she doesn’t give him the answer he wants, and she holds out but gives in a moment later, “Oh, yeah, I love you, too.”

They kiss again, but can’t manage it for too long. They’re smiling too much. If Bellamy wasn’t so happy, he’d be disgusted with himself. 

* * *

Octavia comes into  _ The Dropship  _ the day after the mural reveal party and takes one look at Bellamy and Clarke, grinning at one another and laughing about Murphy trying to hit on Emori through Skype. 

“Oh, thank god,” she deadpans. “You’re finally actually dating.”

They both look up at her surprised. Clarke starts to reply and Bellamy makes weird gestures with his hands and can’t seem to find the proper words.

“Relax,” she says, holding up a hand to put them both at ease. They really are the dorkiest couple in the world and they’ve only been dating a day. She can’t wait to make fun of them with Lincoln and everyone else. “I have a good feeling about this.”

They get married a year later, and hold the reception in the pub. Wells and Abby come, and both of them make obvious jokes about the luck of the Irish. Bellamy and Clarke are so good together, and she fits so well in their lives, it’s hard to imagine a time when she wasn’t there. Octavia takes all the credit for the wedding, as she should. Though she supposes she is thankful that she also had a healthy dose of luck on her side. 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading ❤︎
> 
> find me on tumblr (@animmortalist)
> 
> I want to thank everyone who's nominated me for a bfwa!! It really means so much to me and I can't ever express how much it means to me that I have 33 nominations. It amazes me and makes me so thankful for everyone in this immensely talented fandom. Find information about voting from Sept. 18th-21st [here](https://bellarkeficawards.tumblr.com/post/629284180021411840/voting-details).
> 
> I am also taking prompts through t100fic-for-blm. Learn more about the initiative and how to prompt a lovely writer or content creator [here](https://t100fic-for-blm.carrd.co/).
> 
> Remember: Bellarke are ours now and always will be.


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